


the ghost of you

by hauntedhhouse



Series: fade away like morning dew [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Conditioning, Dave Lives (Umbrella Academy), Gen, Injury, M/M, Mind Control, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Winter Soldier AU, dave as the winter soldier but he's called just 'the soldier', dave centric, featuring a few short interludes from different povs, how many times can i type 'the soldier' without going insane?, it's gonna be one heck of a ride, might rewrite someday, won't go into season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedhhouse/pseuds/hauntedhhouse
Summary: Dave has a life. He has a family, friends, an identity. The Commission decides to take it all away.Life is never easy when involved with a Hargreeves.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Series: fade away like morning dew [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799329
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. never coming home

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by: 'i want my baby back' by aelisheva and 'The Umbrella Academy: Winter Soldier' by chiquitasdave, ratsbaby

_A bomb whistles overhead, shrill and deafening._

_“Lock and load, Charlies away!”_

_“Fire up those claymores!”_

_The air is thick with smoke and the stench of the dead. No one pays it any mind. They can’t afford to. Not with the bullets flying too close for comfort._

_“Whew! Christ on a cracker, that was a close one, huh, Dave?”_

_._

_._

_._

_“...Dave?”_

_._

_._

_._

_“Medic! Medic! Hey! Dave, look at me. Look at me, okay? Oh, damn it! Medic! Medic! Okay, look at me. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Hey. It’s okay. Hey. Please, please… Please stay with me, Dave. Stay with me! No, no, no, no, no!”_

_._

_._

_._

Dave’s eyes roll open to blank walls that blend into a blank ceiling. It’s a jarring change from tents and smoke and dirt that he’s grown accustomed to. 

_It’s too clean._

The sterile air stings his nostrils and the chilled air nips at his skin. The room is silent except for Dave’s heavy, panicked breathing and the nearby clacking of heels against the tiled floor. He struggles to turn his head to the source of the sound. A platinum haired woman smirks down at him, lipstick red as blood. 

But that surely can’t be right—it shouldn’t be. He was in the front lines just a moment ago. To his left, Francis and Walt had been bickering over the gunfire and the bombs. Klaus had been cracking jokes to his right. 

Now he’s in a strange room with an even stranger woman, none of his brothers in arms in sight. There’s a feeling in his gut that tells him he shouldn’t be there, he needs to get back. That something is terribly wrong and things will only get worse.

“David Katz, it’s great to meet you,” the woman says, running a hand across his cheek. “Even better to recruit you.” 

Dave flinches away from her gloved hand. “What do you mean recruit?” he demands, cringing at the hoarseness of his voice. He eyes the room in confusion. “Where am I? Who are you?” 

The lady walks around the chair, checking on the straps holding Dave down. She inspects the nearby tools, all sorts of medical equipment that make Dave’s skin crawl. After a tense moment, she finally answers. 

“You have many questions, but luckily I have all the answers you need,” she says. “I’m your new boss, the Handler. This organization is known as the Temps Aeternalis, otherwise known as the Commission. We work to secure the balance of the timeline. Your mission will be to eliminate any threats to the timeline, no matter what it takes. You’ll be our greatest asset, the Commission’s pride and joy.” Grabbing Dave by the jaw, the Handler stares into his eyes, a manic glint in her own. “The perfect soldier.” 

_Commission?_ Dave’s eyebrows furrow and he pulls away from the Handler’s grasp. A spike of pain shoots through his chest, leaving him breathless. “I… I got hurt, didn’t I?” 

The Handler steps away, sending him a pitying look. It's almost mocking. “Shot through the chest. You were dead, but we just couldn’t have that. You’re the future of the Commission, after all. You’ll work miracles for our organization, as long as you stay under my control—”

“Just tell me what’s fucking happening— _exactly_ ,” Dave growls. 

“Feisty, are we?” The Handler says in amusement. “I see why Number Four liked you so much.”

Dave’s blood turns cold at the mention of Klaus. “W-what did you do to him?” Did they manage to capture Klaus too? Was he strapped up in another room, alone with ghosts and thinking Dave to be one of them? 

"Where is he?" 

“Oh, no,” the Handler laughs. “Don't jump to conclusions. We didn’t do anything. He’s already back in 2019, where he belongs. I’m sure he’ll be quite shocked the next time he sees you. Too bad you won’t remember him by then. It could be a heartwarming reunion, but…” She shrugs. “Duty calls.” 

“Next time he sees me? What does that mean?” Dave presses. It comes out more desperate than demanding. “Just tell me what’s happening!”

Maybe he’s not intimidating since he’s strapped to a chair and exhausted, but he’s trying the best he can. He may be unarmed and at the Commission’s mercy, but he refuses to go down without a fight. Not after all the crap he's had to go through. 

“Well, we can’t just let you keep your memories if you’re going to be our best soldier. Memories would only drag you down and serve as weakness.” The Handler walks over to a machine across the room. She starts flipping switches and pressing buttons, sending an electrical hum through the room. “You see, Katz, our technology is very advanced. We were able to bring you back to life with no problems.” 

The Handler looks pleased as she taps away on a keyboard. She continues, “You’ll be the first to undergo this exact procedure—don’t worry though, we’ve spent years working our methods to perfection, along with the serum. The serum, though, has been used to enhance many others while in its early stages, but this version is much more powerful than the rest.” 

Men and women in white lab coats start trickling into the room. Dave musters up as much hate and disdain as he can, and glares at them. He bites at a hand that gets too close to his face, earning a stern look. If there truly is no way out, he’d like to be as petty as possible. 

Klaus had really rubbed off on him, Dave realizes. 

“I’ll be doing the honors with the serum. This may sting a little.” 

The Handler puts her hand out, and a syringe is set on her palm. The liquid inside glows like liquid gold. The length of the needle makes Dave’s eye twitch. 

“Say goodbye, Dave,” the Handler says, strutting to his side. 

Dave watches with teary, wide eyes as the needle meets his clammy skin. It pricks for a second, and Dave thinks it’s not so bad. But then his stomach churns. His muscles go sore all of a sudden, as if he’s been stretched apart and turned inside out. It feels like he’s being skinned alive. 

A guttural scream makes its way out of Dave’s throat. The Handler carries on her monologue casually.

“In a few hours, you’ll wake up as an enhanced, superhuman temporal assassin, known as the Soldier, with no recollection of your previous life. Welcome to the Commission.” 

She turns to the door, heels clacking. Without looking back she says, “Start the process,” and then walks out. 

People in lab coats flood around Dave. He tries pleading with them, between the pained shrieking and screaming, but they take the first opportunity to shove a mouth-guard between his teeth and ignore his muffled cries. There are hands all over him. All over his face. His chest. His arms and legs. They hold him down as his skin is pierced with another needle. Dave's vision goes fuzzy, darkness creeping in the corners of his eyes. His limbs feel impossibly heavy and the world seems distant. 

Suddenly, there’s electricity coursing through his veins. Dave convulses, strangled screams pouring out his throat. Black dots dance across his vision as his body warms all over, and he can’t think over the searing pain. 

Someone to his left is reciting words from a clipboard, “Tiger. Valley. Vagabond. Magpie. Delta. Hourglass.” More words are spoken and repeated, droning on and on, but they fade to the background as Dave’s mind goes blank in pain. 

He can’t think.

He can’t remember.

_Who’s Dave?_

_Where is he?_

_Who..._

_Is Klaus…_

_Who…_

Everything goes black.

  
  
  
  



	2. could i? should i?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier crashes the family meeting from episode seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me way longer than I expected to push this chapter out of my brain and to edit it, part of the reason being that I’m still learning how to use ao3 (other reasons include me being lazy, procrastinating, and being nervous). But, hey, I’m making progress...I think? At least I finally learned how to get rid of those big spaces after paragraphs.

The Soldier is waiting in the motel room when Hazel and Cha Cha arrive with donuts. Hazel opens the door and visibly startles at the sight of the Soldier sitting on the bed, still as a statue with his gas mask on.

The Soldier pulls a pneumatic tube from his suit pocket and hands it to Cha Cha. For once, she doesn’t snatch. Instead, she eyes him warily and grabs the tube gingerly.

Cha Cha scans the strip of paper, eyes narrowing at the orders. Her lips twist into a scowl.

“Are you kidding me? They’re really making us work with the Soldier.”

“What?” Hazel takes the paper from her after setting down his bag of donuts.

“They obviously noticed we’re not doing so hot with this mission. Now they’ve sent us a babysitter,” Cha Cha says. “Or a replacement.” She paces around the Soldier, sizing him up. “Creepy gas mask.”

The Soldier stares at the wall through red-tinted lenses, completely unbothered.

Hazel looks unsettled anyway. “Are… are you just gonna sit there doing nothing, Soldier?”

The Soldier continues staring ahead, silently.

“Could I interest you in a donut, perhaps?”

Cha Cha rolls her eyes impatiently and motions for Hazel to follow her to the bathroom. The Soldier listens to them argue over what to do with him watching over them. Something about a missing briefcase.

It’s not relevant to the Soldier’s mission, though. Whatever they did wrong before he arrived doesn’t matter. They’ll be the ones punished for it, not him. As long as he does as told and corrects their mistakes and finishes what they started, he’ll be praised. Allowed to go a while longer without a memory wipe or the bitter cold of cryo if he’s lucky.

Eventually, the three assassins head out. After a short exchange of gunfire, the Soldier is left at the Hargreeves’ mansion. He could have already killed Two and Four in the motel parking lot, but Hazel and Cha Cha were on a tight schedule and refused to stop the car. It doesn’t make much of a difference, anyway. The Soldier knows he can have the whole family eliminated by the next day. Won’t be the first time he does such a thing.

First, there is more waiting to be done. The mansion is empty, except for a chimp and a presumably sleeping woman. They’re not targets, so the Soldier leaves them be.

He sneaks throughout the house, planting listening devices, and eventually finds the security room. It’s easy enough to disable the system, erasing any traces of his intrusion.

He gets lucky when the Hargreeves siblings gather in the living room. From the mezzanine, he watches as Number Five crashes into the living room. The traitor slurps down a cup of coffee stolen from Three and announces the apocalypse.

“To give us a fighting chance to see next week,” he says, “I’ve come back with a lead. I know who’s responsible for the apocalypse.”

Five waves a folded piece of paper in the air, a smug grin on his face. Number Three grabs it and reads, “Harold Jenkins?” 

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” Two questions.

The Soldier shifts, absently running his fingers over his gas mask. If Five really did return to the Commission just to betray them again, he probably did some damage. He could use that small piece of information to completely destroy the Soldier’s mission.

Mission failure would lead to punishment. Another wiping. Prolonged time in cryo. Unacceptable. 

He snaps back to attention as Five finishes explaining the Commission.

“While I was back at the Commission, I also found a file on the agents and assassins on our case,” Five says. He stops pacing and leans against the bar, looking down in thought. “I’m not sure why they left it lying around—especially when they went out of their way to make a fake document for another file. Maybe because this one didn’t reveal how the apocalypse starts, or _maybe_ it was a warning—”

Cutting himself off, Five shakes his head and faces up again. “Someone else is after us. Someone better than Hazel and Cha Cha.”

Two scowls. “Didn’t you say they were the best of the best? How much better can this other guy be?”

Five hesitates, brows furrowed as he looks at each of his siblings' faces. “If any one of the Commission’s assassins could beat me single handedly, it would be him. The Soldier.”

The Soldier freezes. It’s so much more annoying when his targets are aware of him, albeit rare. He'll have to put more energy and precious time into the job.

“Real creative name,” Four chimes in. He looks slimy. Slightly green. For some reason, this sends a pang through the Soldier’s chest. He clenches his fist against the sensation.

One either doesn't notice or doesn't care for his brother’s condition. “Can you be serious for just _one second_?” he scolds. “We’re all in danger and you keep making jokes.”

“We’ve been in danger all week. I’m just trying to lighten the mood!”

“I still think we should apologize to Vanya and tell her, especially if this is so important,” Three says. “She could be in danger right now. We should at least call again, get to stay here where it’s safer.”

“Stop trying to be the boss of everyone,” Two tells One angrily. “Your number doesn’t mean a thing anymore. Just—”

“You know what? I’ll just go on ahead and call her. Maybe she’ll forgive us and come back,” Three says to herself. She bounds out the room, ignoring Five’s calls for her to return.

“Think I’m gonna vomit,” Four groans. None of his siblings hear him.

“Just listen to me, idiots!” Five shouts. “If y’all don’t get yourselves together, we might as well sit back and watch the world end. We have a superhuman assassin on our tails—”

The Soldier checks his array of weapons. They’re all generally small, easy to conceal. He plucks a throwing knife from his boot.

“Oooh, he’s super-powered,” Four gasps. Then, “Oh. Yikes.”

“Yes, Klaus, _yikes,_ ” Five scoffs. “And to make matters worse, I barely even know a thing about him—no one does. What I _do_ know is that he has enhanced strength and stamina, probably other things too. And he could be here any mo—”

He hurls the knife at Five. It doesn’t hit, Five teleporting out of the way. 

The other siblings are quick to action. Four throws himself to the floor behind the couch. One and Two run to the stairs leading to the mezzanine, the latter pulling out his own knives.

The Soldier climbs over the railing and jumps, just as One and Two spot him from the stairs. On the ground, he leaps back to his feet and pulls out his gun, all in one smooth movement. He shoots at Five, but the traitor teleports away once more. An expensive looking vase crashes at the Soldier’s feet, thrown from behind the couch. He shoots at the piece of furniture, and Four yelps from his hiding spot.

Number Two darts after him, One at his heels. Two goes in for a tackle, but the Soldier slides his gun back into his pants and grabs him by the shirt. He hurls Two into the coffee table.

Something whooshes behind the Soldier’s head, and then there’s thin arms around his neck and legs around his torso. Five squeezes like a snake. One’s still running to him.

Just as One is right in front of him, reaching out, the Soldier throws himself to the floor, back first, and kicks his legs up. 

Five grunts beneath him and lets go. One staggers back, gagging when the Soldier’s boots forcefully meet his stomach, eyes wide as the Soldier immediately jumps up.

By now, Two is back on his feet with a knife in hand. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon flies toward the Soldier, who is distracted by Five reappearing by his side. The knife embeds itself in his shoulder, and he stumbles back just as Five attempts to grab him.

The Soldier pulls the knife out of his flesh, not even flinching at the action, and swipes at Five. The traitor gasps as the blade glides across his side, tearing the fabric of his uniform. He tries flashing away, only to stay rooted on the spot, hands faintly glowing. The Soldier raises the knife and stabs down, but a giant arm gets in the way.

Number One grunts in pain as the knife retracts. Another blade collides with the Soldier’s lower thigh before he can aim for any of One’s vital organs. The Soldier clamps a hand over the wound as Two tugs Five to safety behind the couch, where Four pulls him down to the floor.

One takes the moment of weakness to lift the Soldier, shake him, and throw him at a pillar. The Soldier lands on the linoleum with a thud, and he scrambles up on unsteady feet, vision flashing when he puts weight on his wounded leg. His brain might as well be rattling in his skull.

Too much blood loss. He needs to retreat before he falls unconscious. Nearest exit is twenty meters away.

“Jesus Christ, he’s still getting up,” Two says exasperatedly.

The Soldier ignores him in favor of pulling out a smoke bomb.

“Where does he even hide that stuff?”

The Soldier throws the smoke bomb, and if it lands slightly closer to Number Two—oh well. As the smoke fills the room, he brings his gun back out and shoots wildly, bullets striking the room’s expensive decor. He bolts for the nearest door, using his memory of the house’s layout to guide him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know much about writing good fight scenes but I’m learning as I go (or at least trying to). Honestly, I'm not totally pleased with how this chapter came out but I just want to get it out of the way at this point for the sake of my sanity. That's what I get for working on this when I should be sleeping.
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated! (even if i don’t always reply to comments because i'm a nervous-nelly)


	3. at the top of my lungs, in my arms

The Soldier returns to the motel without alerting any authorities, much to his surprise. He barely did anything to change his bloodied appearance, except take off the mask. He’d staggered through the city with blood pouring out his shoulder and thigh, and not a single person had looked at him.

Civilians never fail to amaze him.

The door of the motel room flies open before he can lift a finger and Hazel storms past him. He rounds the corner, leaving the door cracked. Inside, Cha Cha is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and fuming with a controlled type of anger. She’s clutching a pneumatic tube in one hand.

“Welcome back, Soldier,” Cha Cha greets tensely. She walks to the bathroom door, but pauses and glances back. “Jeez, what happened to you? You’re going to stain the sheets.”

The Soldier shifts on the bed. Gingerly, he lifts the mask off of his face to get a better look at the damage. Cha Cha stares at him, hand still on the bathroom doorknob.

“You sure don’t look like you’ve been running around for fifty years.”

The Soldier pokes at his thigh silently. He can feel the skin and muscles stitching back together, throbbing like a bruise under enormous pressure. Cha Cha sighs and finally steps into the bathroom, leaving him alone.

After a quick bandaging and change of clothes (a coat over his suit, mask hidden in a large pocket, weapons in the others), the Soldier pulls on the headphones connected to his listening device and walks back out the door. His shoulder and thigh no longer burn with every movement. He can continue with the mission.

Through the headphones, he listens to what sounds like someone choking. The special Commission technology lets him hear the oncoming conversation well enough, albeit slightly grainy at times.

“Luther!” Four’s voice gasps, tinny through the small device. The Soldier stumbles for a moment, stomach fluttering. “Of course I tried! God knows I’ve tried—”

The Soldier quickens his pace, waving down the nearest taxi. The conversation quiets, presumably as One and Four move away from the listening device planted nearby. He only hears when there is more yelling as Klaus tries desperately to stop his drunk brother from leaving home. 

.

.

.

The Soldier manages to track Four through countless dimly lit streets—all the way to a rave. He keeps Four in his line of sight as they weave through the sweaty crowd. The close proximity with strangers makes the Soldier’s skin crawl and his stomach tighten into knots, but he plows on in fear of losing Four, ignoring the way he wants to run away from all the prying eyes.

Then, Four is crawling across the dirty floor for a pill and crying.

The Soldier can’t help but to feel a pang of pity at the broken man on the dance floor. Then, shame. Shame for feeling such things for a target he must eliminate.

Weapons aren’t meant to feel remorse.

A man stomps by, eyes set on Number One, and Four looks panicked. The Soldier’s heart drops when Four darts after the man, fading into the crowd. The music thrums painfully in his ears as he searches for his target, shoulders tense as he brushes past people. He thinks he’s lost Four to the sea of bodies, but then Four is jumping on the man’s back.

Without thinking, the Soldier runs forward, one hand on the gun in his pocket, all while the struggle goes unnoticed by One. 

Four is thrown to the ground. His head collides with the concrete floor, and the Soldier shouts, “Klaus!” 

Four doesn’t move.

Some of the party-goers form a loose circle around Four’s body. The Soldier pushes through to his side and presses a finger to Four’s wrist.

No pulse.

A wave of cold crashes upon the Soldier. The whole world seems to slow down as he stares at Four’s limp body, his sight reduced to tunnel vision. The other man and his friends ran off the moment Four hit the floor with a sickening thud. Now, it’s just Four ( _Klaus?_ ), the Soldier, and what feels like a hundred spectators.

A pool of blood forms around Four’s head, growing bigger and bigger. The Soldier drops to his knees, hands freezing above Four’s face. His eyes are half open, green and unfocused and staring coldly at the Soldier. He closes them with trembling fingers.

He’s vaguely aware of the crowd forming around them, gasping and murmuring, watching what’s not theirs to see.

The Soldier has one less target, and he didn’t have to lift a finger to achieve it.

_(That must be why he feels so guilty—it has to be. Because he didn’t do it himself. He didn’t earn any victory, any praise. It’s not because he’s attached to Number Four for some inexplicable reason. It’s all because he’s not doing his job like he's made to. That has to be the reason he can’t breathe. It has to be._

Sluggishly, the Soldier slides his mask back on, having had enough of everyone’s staring. The crowd is getting too close. He wants to lash out. He wants to yell at them. He wants to throw them to the side. He wants to kick and scream. _He wants to—_

Suddenly, Four’s eyes fly open. He shoots into a sitting position, and nearly collides with the Soldier.

The Soldier’s heart leaps to his throat, and he reaches for his weapon on instinct. He almost draws his gun, but Four meets his eyes through the mask’s lenses and they both freeze.

Four’s mouth falls open, quivering as he inhales sharply. He stares with wide eyes, and the Soldier hates the relief he feels with how alive those eyes are.

Just as quickly as he sat up, Four leaps to his feet and _he runs_.

The Soldier watches him go for a split second. Then, he darts the opposite way, pushing strangers aside as his heart thumps between his ears.

.

.

.

The music blares through the Soldier’s skull as he stumbles out the backdoor, into the dingy alley. He leans against the brick wall of the building next door and tries to blink away the image of Klaus ( _Four, the Soldier is to call him Four_ ) staring at him in fear, blood glistening in his hair.

It had been the perfect chance to eliminate him after that first failure, yet the Soldier had frozen and stared back. Four had been dead, and then alive and vulnerable. And the Soldier had done nothing.

If the Commission takes note of his sudden softness—of his incompetence—they’ll punish him. They’ll put him in the Chair and shock him until he comes back to his senses. They’ll take away the memories he just made on this mission. He’ll be put back in the ice until all he knows is the bone-chilling cold that seeps through every inch of his being. 

The Soldier crouches on the dirty pavement and takes his mask off, breath coming out as harsh gasps. He shuts his eyes and sees the Handler smirking down at him. Then he blinks and the picture changes to Klaus’ look of horror. 

_No. Not Klaus. Number Four._

His heart beats violently in his chest. He shouldn’t care about Four’s name. He wasn’t even told what it was during the mission briefing at the Commission—to place distance between him and his targets, as the Handler would say. But there’s a part of him that insists that Four is Klaus, and it’s wrong to call him by a number.

The Soldier throws his head back and glares at the moon, trying to steady his breathing while racking through his brain for a single reason to feel so strongly about Klaus. 

With just about fifty years at the Commission, he’s seen hundreds of deaths and been the cause of many of them. Despite this history, seeing Klaus, his own target, die in front of him had shaken him to the core. Something about seeing Klaus laying on the dirty floor, blood pooling around his head, had… _changed_ him. It seemed oddly familiar. More so, it felt familiar to be crouched over him, assessing his condition in worry.

Like it had happened before.

.

.

.

_[He] crouched, pressing [Himself] into the mud, and ignored the swirls of blood in the puddles of rainwater. [He] yelled for more ammo._

_“How ya holding up, Hargreeves?” [He] shouted to Klaus, who was crouched next to [Him]. There was no reply, and [He] turned to look at him._

_Klaus was slumped over himself, eyes fluttering as his shuddering breathing started to slow. [He] was at his side immediately._

_[He] pressed on the bullet wound in Klaus’ stomach. The blood seeped through [His] already dirty fingers. Between words of comfort, [He] screamed for a medic. [He] screamed and shouted [His] throat raw until Hargreeves was hastily carried away on a stretcher._

_Hours later, after being freed from battle, [He] beelined to the medical tent. Surprisingly, Klaus was awake and in high spirits._

_“Hey!” Klaus waved violently, grinning ear from ear. “You really saved me out there, man. I thought I was a goner.”_

_“No problem?” [He] said, raising a brow at Klaus’ happy demeanor. “But maybe you should tone it down, Hargreeves. You’ve got France and Walt worrying themselves crazy about you.”_

_Klaus frowned. “You should really stop calling me that.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Just call me Klaus. Hargreeves was my bastard of a father.” Klaus’ expression darkened for a second, then switched right back to playful. “And you guys don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m a medical miracle! Yay me!”_

_[He] blinked owlishly when Klaus lifted his shirt to show the cleanly healed scar on his stomach. [He] rubbed the exhaustion off [His] face, hiding [His] relieved smile. Weirder things have happened with Klaus. A miraculous healing was barely surprising at that point._

_“Only you, Klaus. Only you.”_

.

.

_._

A pneumatic tube slides out from the rain gutter next to the Soldier, startling him back to the present. He retrieves it with shaky hands and struggles to open it.

The message reads: RETURN TO COMMISSION AND MEET WITH HANDLER

The Soldier turns to the side and vomits.

.

.

.

When the Soldier returns to the Commission, the building is in ruins. The bright, green grass is covered in shards of glass and debris. Half of the structure’s remains are on fire. On the doorsteps of the destruction, the Handler is standing with a large group of people—the survivors, most likely. Another group is already doing damage control, picking up the trash and talking about remodeling.

“You just missed a lot of action, Soldier,” The Handler says. There’s a new scar on her mouth. “Number Five just tried to destroy our organization _and me_ . Most of our briefcases are in ruins. Five and his family are still alive after I sent, not one, but _three_ of my very best assassins after them.” Her voice picks up volume as she speaks angrily. The survivors look nervously between her and the Soldier. “I came to terms with the fact that Hazel and Cha Cha failed, but _you_ , Soldier… I made you better than this.

“You’ve never been so incompetent.” The Handler walks down the doorsteps and stands in front of the Soldier. She leaves a small, intimidating space between them. “You’re the best of the best—the Commission’s greatest weapon. Don’t fail us again. Understood?”

The Soldier nods slowly.

“Now, take off that mask and tell me what’s holding you back.”

He does as told, feeling sick to his stomach with every passing second. The other Commission employees stare intensely as his face is revealed.

The Handler gives him a strained, plastic smile. “Soldier, report.”

The Soldier hesitates. He doesn’t like so many eyes on his bare face. “I am displaying symptoms of failed programming. Unable to focus on mission objectives. Will probably need another wiping.”

“Just what we needed!” The Handler throws her arms in the air. “You’re lucky the lab is still intact. I don’t think Five even knows it exists.”

The Soldier swallows, casting his eyes to the rubble at his feet. It’s now or never. “… Do I… Do I know Number Four? Klaus Hargreeves?”

The Handler freezes. She looks at him, blinking slowly, displeasure clear on her face.

“Whether you do or don’t personally know Number Four is irrelevant. He is part of your mission, and you were ordered to kill him.” Her tone goes stone cold. “You were also ordered to refer to him only as Number Four.”

The Soldier shifts nervously. There are too many people watching him. The Handler will punish him greatly for being so publicly disobedient.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she says. “Follow me to the lab, Soldier.”

.

.

.

The lab materials are thrown around, presumably from the hasty evacuation, but are otherwise completely intact. Most of the scientists that work with the Soldier survived Five’s attack. They run around the lab like roaches as the Soldier sits in the Chair. The Handler stands next to him, ready to start the procedure.

When it does start, the electricity coursing through the Soldier is worse than usual. The straps of the Chair are tight against his skin, cutting off the blood flow around his wrists. His muscles barely have time to relax between every shock. His screams never make it past his throat.

The last thing he sees are the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. For a split second, before the pain takes over again, he thinks they’re brighter than the sun.

Then his mind resets.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> my first multi-chaptered fic woo! let's see how it goes...
> 
> if you have any feedback, go ahead and throw it at me!


End file.
